come see my lair with its hundreds of skulls

i'm almost done with the second draft of my novel and i've gotten back to the very first parts i ever wrote, where i spelled one of the main characters' name wrong half the time, thought there was an "a" in "breeches" and (above all) was much worse at writing than i am now

i finished (yay) and immediately started feeling weird and sick and cold and exhausted. why did the evil book drain my life force

watching youtube in the 18th century: goddddddd could you skip through the 20 minutes of thanks for your ~most gracious patron her grace the duchess of D--shire, a new maecenas & the loveliest of ladies~ and get to your handel tier listing

SAM REID CALLING OMEGAVERSE "VERY URSULA LE GUIN"

an additional layer of this is, if a sixteen year old fan tweeted this same thing to richard siken, he would tell them to put their face through a computer screen

what you experience is hyperfixation, which is pathological. what I experience is psychosexual obsession， which is also pathological, but in a darkly chic and subversive way. thank you for understanding.